The Full Scoop

by Jill Orr

  The blood running through my veins turned to ice. I was aware of a fuzzing pulse pounding behind my ears, and the hand holding my phone began to shake. My body was responding on a primal level, but my brain thought there might still be a chance I was somehow misinterpreting what she said. “What?” My voice came out in a cracked whisper.

  “The house that used to belong to your grandfather, right?”

  CHAPTER 38

  In through the nose, out through the mouth,” Holman said as he watched me melt into a panic. “Then count backward from five.”

  “What? No—”

  He ignored me, taking a deep breath of his own. “Five…four…three…”

  “Two, one!” I sucked in a quick breath and blew it out at him. “There. Are you happy?”

  “No, not particularly—”

  “Holman!” I shouted. “We have to do something! I think this Megan person could be the person behind everything.” My mind flew back to the night Coltrane had gotten spooked on our walk. I remember there’d been a car at the top of the street…could it have been her?

  “Tell me again what she said to you?”

  “I think she was threatening me,” I said, my heartbeat still several clicks above normal. “Why else would she mention where I live? Or that it was my grandfather’s house? How did she know that? Oh God…” I was starting to spin out. I told him exactly what she had said to me again, recounting every detail I could. What I didn’t tell him was how my hand started to shake so much, I could barely press the end button. Or how I could hear her saying, “Riley? Riley? What’s the matter?” through the speaker as I ended the call.

  “She could have found your address online,” Holman suggested.

  “How did she know it used to belong to Granddaddy then, huh?”

  “Well,” he said. “I’m sure you’re on the record somewhere talking about that…”

  “On the record? What are you even talking about? I’m not a public figure. I’m a nobody reporter.”

  “She could have—”

  “Why are you fighting me on this?” I slammed my palm on his desk. “I’m telling you the woman was threatening me. Why don’t you believe me?”

  Holman folded his hands together neatly, the gesture giving him time to formulate a precise response. “Megan Johanning wrote an entire book about how God’s grace healed her. And she’s disabled.”

  “So?”

  “So that isn’t exactly the profile of a killer,” his voice was maddeningly calm. “Besides, what would her motivation be?”

  “To protect the Claremores!” I shouted. “You didn’t hear her—she was creepily into them. I’m telling you, Holman, there is something off about her.”

  He drummed his long fingers on his desk. “What is it that you think we should do then?” There was a patronizing tinge to his voice that really chapped my hide.

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I think we should go see Carl.”

  “And say what?”

  “Tell him what happened…what I think she was implying…” Even as I was saying the words, I remembered Sheriff Clark’s dismissal when I told him I thought Shannon Claremore had threatened me.

  He sighed. “All right. Fine. If you want me to go with you, I will.”

  It wasn’t exactly a brick wall of support, but it would have to do. For now.

  “He’s out, honey,” Gail said as soon as we walked in.

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “Official business is all I can tell you.” She winked. Gail was Ryan’s cousin and I’d known her practically all my life. “Hey, can you hang on a quick sec? I wanna show you something.” She was already up and out of her chair before I could answer.

  Holman looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I shrugged. No telling what Gail wanted to show me—it could be a new jacket or something weird that just came in as evidence on a case. With Gail, there was no telling. She was full of surprises.

  The walk over to the sheriff’s office had given me some time to calm down, and I was feeling a little less freaked out than I’d been right after the call. I took the opportunity while Gail scuttled off toward the break room to take a couple of deep breaths. I let my eyes wander over the familiar room. I was struck again by how similar it was to the Brunswick County Sheriff’s office, and I wondered if they all looked this way. American flag/American flag. Sheriff star logo on the wall/sheriff star logo on the wall. Framed pics of the governor and president/framed pics of the governor and president.

  “All these small-town sheriff offices look the same. Have you noticed that?” I said to Holman.

  “Of course.”

  “Why is that?”

  “There are a host of reasons. First, there is a uniformity of function. Second—”

  I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture or for the real answer, for that matter. “No, I mean, like why can’t each sheriff’s office have its own personality? Seems to me it’d be nice if every office was allowed to make their own choices about color and décor…maybe it’d improve morale? My mom told me about an article she read in Better Homes & Gardens about how the color blue has been shown in studies to slow down heart rates and reduce stress.”

  “That’s entirely impractical, Riley,” Holman said. “This is a place of business, not a place to showcase one’s individual personality.”

  “I just think they could jazz it up some, that’s all,” I said, annoyed at Holman’s bah-humbug response.

  Gail came back from the break room holding an index card in one hand and a white paper bag in the other. Sounding slightly robotic, she said, “How would you like to reduce mood swings, improve mental clarity, and generally support your ultimate health and wellness goals?”

  “Riley might be interested in reducing mood swings,” Holman said, deadpan.

  I shot him a look.

  Gail looked down at her card and read, “We all want to feel our best, but it’s easy to get bogged down in the stress of daily life. Work, kids, volunteering at school…”

  Kids? Volunteering at school? What the hell was she talking about? “Gail, are you feeling all right?” I said, confused.

  “Oh, forget it!” She dropped the card onto her desk. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “I got roped into selling these essential oils as part of one of those multilevel-marketing deals, but I can’t even make it through the sales pitch without wanting to shoot myself.” She let out a self-conscious laugh. “I’ve never heard such a load of horsepuckey in my life. That’s the last time I let Darla Jensen ply me with ‘free’ margaritas.”

  Holman raised a long skinny finger. “Point of fact, essential oils have been used since ancient times in religious observances, food preparation, preservation, and for medicinal purposes.”

  “Maybe you should sell ’em then,” Gail joked.

  “I already have a job, but thank you.”

  “Well, I guess I do too,” she said, laughing. “And I’d better get back to it.”

  “When the sheriff comes back, will you let him know we came by?” I asked.

  “Sure thing, hon. And happy new year, by the way!”

  The day had been such a long, weird one that I’d almost forgotten it was New Year’s Eve—and that I had a party to go to. I checked my phone. Ash would be picking me up in just a few hours. Holman was itching to get home, so I told him to go ahead. There was nothing I could do about Megan Johanning right now anyway. Besides, maybe there was an innocent explanation for her knowing where I live? I doubted it, but the slight room for doubt helped me move on. At least for the time being.

  I swung back by the Times office and gave the Christmas Lady obit feature a quick once-over before uploading it to the shared server. I sent Kay a message apologizing for it being a few hours late. I texted Jay to thank him again for what he did to help and wished him a happy new year. I figured he was probably already halfway back to DC to celebrate with Chloe. After that, I made
my last phone call of the afternoon, to Sheriff Clark.

  “No change,” he said. “Doctor says Tackett sustained some pretty serious injuries. He isn’t out of the woods yet.”

  “I heard a rumor that he’ll be transferred if he survives,” I said, purposefully vague about the source of my information. “Is that true?”

  “That’s above my pay grade, Riley. But between you and me, survival ain’t looking super likely.”

  “All right,” I said with a sigh. “Hey, before I let you go, did you ever have a chance to look into Flick’s cell records on the day he died? As the executor, I have a request in, but my lawyer tells me it’ll take a month minimum to get them.”

  “I have them here, actually. Phone company responds a little faster to law enforcement, I guess.”

  “Any chance I can get a copy?”

  “Why not? You’re gonna get ’em eventually, I suppose. I’ll scan and email it over to you when we hang up.”

  I felt badly for suspecting Sheriff Clark of obstructing earlier. He was a good man, like Carl said, probably just overworked and underpaid, like most small-county sheriffs. “Thanks. You have a happy new year.”

  Sheriff Clark let out a wry laugh. “New Year’s Eve takes on a whole new perspective as sheriff,” he said. “Last year, we had seventeen DUIs, five illegal possession of firearms, and nine drunk and disorderly arrests. Not exactly my favorite night of the year.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Well, hope you have a boring New Year’s…is that better?”

  “Much,” he said. “I’ll send that stuff over just as soon as I can.”

  Coltrane and I took an abbreviated version of our usual walk, mostly because it was cold, but also because I’d gotten some fake lashes to wear as part of my costume and I knew I would need extra time to get those suckers on. We walked down Salem Street and had just turned onto Beach when I noticed there was a car behind me driving very slowly. A Prius. My mind flashed back to the night that Coltrane growled a warning. Wasn’t it a Prius that had been out that night too? I looked over my shoulder, hoping it was someone slowing down to look for an address or turning into a driveway, but it just kept inching along the road. No turn signal, no signs of stopping. Could someone be following me? Then I thought of Megan’s eerie warning about knowing where I lived. I quickened my pace.

  The car crept along, hanging back just far enough away that I couldn’t get a good look at the driver, despite my frequent glances. Sweat started to form at my temples and I realized I was practically racewalking. Thoughts—crazy thoughts—of the car jumping up onto the sidewalk to mow me down started to flood into my mind. Is this what happened to Flick…did he notice someone following him right before they forced him off the road? If he did, I’d bet my last penny that he thought he could outrun them. Flick was nothing if not brave and stupid; there was no way he’d have done something sensible like call for help or drive to the sheriff’s station.

  But I was not brave—or stupid—and I was not going to fall victim to the same heroics that got him killed. I took a deep breath and with one last backward glance at the car, I yanked on Coltrane’s leash and took off running through the Wilson’s yard, into the trees behind their house. I knew that it let out on Bishop Street just down from Ryan and Ridley’s house. It wasn’t much, but it’d buy me about a minute until the car could catch up. I got to their house and banged on the door, my heart thundering. “Ryan! Ridley! It’s me—open up!” I yelled. My desperate voice echoed out into the quiet afternoon.

  “Riley?” I heard Ridley say as the deadbolt clicked open. As soon as Ridley opened the door, Coltrane and I bounded inside, nearly knocking her over. “Is everything okay—”

  “Close the door!” I said, panting.

  “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

  I peeked out of the sidelight next to her door. The street was completely empty. My fear started to give way to con-fusion…the car had been following me, right?

  “I’m fine,” I said, stepping into their dining room to look out the large front window. There was nothing there. No cars at all. “I’m sorry…I just thought someone was…” I let my words trail off. I was starting to feel embarrassed at how scared I’d been over a threat that now seemed unlikely, if not completely invisible. “I thought someone might be following me, but maybe my imagination got the best of me.”

  Ridley, eyeing me cautiously, took Coltrane’s leash from my hand. “Lizzie’s napping. Why don’t you come into the kitchen and I’ll get you some water?”

  I pulled off my gloves and hat and followed her down the short hallway and into the kitchen. It occurred to me that this was my first time inside Ryan and Ridley’s house. Given how sleek and modern Mysa was, I guess I expected their home to have a similar aesthetic. It did not. The aesthetic here was less Swedish minimalism and more American disaster zone. And not a we-just-moved-in sort of disaster—the kitchen looked like a carload of drunk monkeys had ransacked it looking for bananas. Every square inch of counter space was filled with some sort of pot or pan or kitchen utensil, cabinets hung open, boxes of cereal, bags of pretzels, and other kitchen flotsam littered the countertops.

  Ridley didn’t seem the least bit troubled by the mess as she got down a glass and filled it with water. Coltrane started to lick up some sort of oatmeal-colored glob from the floor.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” I said, stepping over what looked like a bubble wand on the floor near the fridge.

  “No. Why?”

  Because it looks like you were just robbed. “Um. No reason.”

  “So,” she said, handing me the glass. “Tell me what happened.”

  I leaned against the edge of the island. “I was walking Coltrane and there was this car. I thought it might be following me…I don’t know. Saying it out loud makes me realize how stupid it sounds.”

  Ridley didn’t look like she thought I sounded stupid. She looked concerned. “Do you think this is connected to what we discovered yesterday?”

  I told her about my unsettling conversation with Megan.

  “And this woman knows where you live?”

  “Apparently,” I said. “But that’s crazy, right? I mean, she’s like a religious icon or something. Surely she isn’t some sort of psychopath…”

  “Those two things are not mutually exclusive,” Ridley said, bless her loyal heart. “What kind of car?”

  “A Prius. Silver.”

  Ridley frowned.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said, not meeting my eye. “It’s just that the Matthews’ daughter just got a Prius.”

  “Oh.” Edward and Helen Matthews lived about four houses down Bishop. Their daughter, Stella, was a senior at Tuttle High School.

  “I think I have their number,” Ridley said. “Do you want me to call and check if it was her?”

  “No!” Gossip traveled around Tuttle Corner like a highspeed train. The last thing I needed was for word to get out that I thought someone was following me. I was embarrassed enough already. “Thank you, but no. I’m sure that’s who it was. That makes a lot more sense than…”

  Ridley gave me what could only be described as a pity smile. “If you’re sure?”

  I brought my glass over to the sink. “I’m sorry for barging in and ringing the alarm bells,” I said. “It’s been a stressful couple of days, and I think I just got paranoid for a second.”

  Ridley handed me Coltrane’s leash and gave him one last scratch behind the ears. “No worries. I’m glad I was here.” We said our goodbyes and I headed out for the short walk home.

  On the way, I passed by the Matthews house and sure enough, there was a silver Prius sitting in the driveway. What an idiot, I thought. I can’t believe I actually believed that Megan Johanning had come all the way to Tuttle to run me over in her environmentally responsible car. There was something seriously wrong with my brain these days. My fear had been real, though, and I took it as a sign that now more than ever I probably needed to take a brea
k from thinking about brutal attacks, identity thieves, and murderers for a while. And yes, even the beloved men I’d lost. I’d been in a near-constant state of anxiety for a month now, and it was obviously beginning to take its toll.

  Holman, Kay, and I had some good solid leads on what Flick and Granddaddy were looking into when they were killed, and we had the support of law enforcement to follow those leads. True, I would have felt a lot better if we could find Tackett’s recording, but there was little I could do about that. We would keep looking, and if we weren’t able to find it, there was a still a chance, however small it might be, that Tackett would recover and be motivated to exchange the tape for something he wanted. In any case, I felt confident that there wasn’t anything else I could be doing to track down the truth. Especially at six p.m. on New Year’s Eve. I made a mental decision that I was done thinking about the story for the night. Tonight, I decided, was going to be about having fun.

  CHAPTER 39

  Ash stepped into my entryway wearing a black tux, white waistcoat, white shirt, and white bow tie. His tawny eyes sparkled, and his brown hair, which was normally messy, tonight had been gelled, parted, and slicked back into the perfect twenties style.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “You look pretty wow yourself.” Ash’s eyes wandered up and down the length of me. “That dress…”

  I had on my mother’s ivory beaded dress and had layered on strands of pearls and draped a feather boa around my neck. I’d tied my hair back into a lose bun, letting strands of hair fall out from under the headband. It was a look I’d tried to copy off Pinterest, with some success if Ash’s wide-eyed stare was any indication. I’d put on way more makeup than my usual mascara-and-lip gloss combo and had—after considerable effort—affixed the faux lashes to my own. It was definitely more of a va-va-voom look than my usual attire. “You like?” I posed, jutting my hip out.